


you and i against the world

by scheherazade



Category: Tenimyu RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-07
Updated: 2017-07-07
Packaged: 2018-11-29 06:31:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11435133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scheherazade/pseuds/scheherazade
Summary: It’s the way he looks at you sometimes.





	you and i against the world

It’s the way he looks at you sometimes, that secret smile like it’s just the two of you, co-conspirators in a joke at everybody else’s expense.  _Fuck 'em,_  he’ll say after you’ve exhausted your store of petty ire in gossip.  _People are fools._

And you’ll drink to that, and laugh and mock lecture him for language so incongruous with his virtuous public image, which will make him snort, corners of his mouth turning up in pleasure, and then he’ll buy another round.

You’ll drink that, too, and try to forget the way he looks at you.

Because it’s not the way he looks at you. It’s the way he looks at other people—women: gentle, loving things who are kinder than you’ll ever be, who could make him happier than you ever could hope to do, even if he takes your side in every feud and argument, laughs at your jokes and goes out to bars with you when you call.

You try not to call, but it’s always been a losing fight.

“Seriously,” he says, after what might have been a couple drinks too many. You stopped counting a while ago. Years ago, probably. “I can’t stand half those people.”

“You’re friends with everybody.”

“Yeah, but.” He waves his hand in vague meaning. “They’re all, like. I don’t hate them or anything. People are just like that.” That smile again. “They’re not you.”

He’s looking at you, but he doesn’t mean it.

“Yeah, well.” You retreat behind vanity for lack of a better shield. “ _Obviously_.”

He laughs at that, and you breathe, and the conversation moves on.

"Seriously,” he says again, two or three past a couple drinks too many. “You’re great.”

“So I’m often told.”

“Hey, come on. I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

“It’s like, you act like that but you’re not actually a bad person. You’re a great person, Yuu. My favorite person.”

“And you’re my favorite drunk. But tell me more.”

“Shut up.” He laughs. A smile crinkles the corners of his eyes. “I’m very serious.”

“You’re seriously drunk, is what you are.”

“So what,” he declares. “I still love you.”

He’s looking at you, but he doesn’t mean it, and for a split second you think you could almost learn to hate him for the way he keeps doing this to you. Smiling and looking and buying you drinks and wanting nothing more but never giving less than whatever you ask.

You can’t ask. It would be so much easier if you could.

You can’t imagine not loving him, and in that is the beginning and the end of everything.

“You should know that,” he says. “I mean it. You’re great.”

“I know,” you tell him, and he can take that to mean whatever he wants it to mean.

He gives you another smile. “Good.”

It’s the way he believes you’re the best friend he’ll ever have, and it’s the way he assumes the same is true for you, because why wouldn’t it be? He loves you, and you love him, and if what he means by it is worlds apart from what you actually want, then there’s got to be a joke in there somewhere. Someday you’re going to find the punch line, and then you’ll buy him a drink and tell him all about it, and the two of you will laugh it off together, and life—that thing you can’t imagine going through without him—will continue merrily on.


End file.
